* * * *
Given the lessons learned on the first fresco, work on the second progressed faster than I had hoped. Things were relatively quiet until the final phase of the work in the narthex, the retouching. Even this, I believed would be expedited because I had existing supplies of the paint elements from the first fresco. As I carefully worked on an agonized St. Peter hanging upside down on his cross, I sensed a presence on the scaffold with me other than Rodrigo, who was carefully retouching the background. He was here, suffering with the Saint, experiencing the pain of the nails, the horror of approaching death. Could my shade be the Saint, himself?
A sudden spasm seized my right hand, causing me to drop my brush and cry aloud. Rodrigo rushed to my side, concern written across his featu
